On Top of The World
by JosieMarieVivianWilkins
Summary: Ian is finally diagnosed after a particularly consequential manic phase, and due to the illegalities of some of his actions is institutionalised by the court. Whilst inside, Ian makes an unlikely friend and has some even more unlikely experiences which will change how he views himself and the world around him completely.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** _Yo, my first Gallavich fic. It was the first thing I did once I'd finished binge-watching and started rewatching Shameless all over again. So, it's AU, and I think that's about all I need to explain, everything else should emerge in the story or later author notes._

 _So, enjoy. You could even be fab and leave me some feedback if you really wanted to ;)_

 _ **Prologue**_

Ian stood in the middle of the room and looked around him. This felt right. It felt more than right – it felt _amazing_. In that moment, Ian felt on top of the world, like he could conquer any obstacle that was put in his way. But then he heard banging and voices, and he was suddenly running. Running as fast as he could, a huge grin on his face as he turned corners and jumped over the scattered people lying on the floor.

 _Shit!_

Ian had come to a dead end. And without a thought, Ian was opening the window and launching himself out of it. In that moment Ian imagined what it would be like to be a bird.

Liberating.

Exhilarating.

 _Intoxicating_.

Ian took a deep breath in as he fell. Those were two and a half of the longest seconds he could ever recall. But they were over pretty quickly.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N:** _So, yes, that was a bit of a dickish prologue, you might even say pointless, but it is what it is, and it's what I wanted it to be: erratic and scatty, how I imagine Ian's thinking to be during a manic episode._

 _Also, just a small note. Everyone is roughly three years younger than present, but Kev and Vee still have Gemma and Amy._

 _ **Chapter One**_

Lights. Really bright lights. Everywhere. It was all Ian could see when he tried to open his eyes. That harshness of the light stung when he finally cracked them open, so he closed them again. His mouth felt dry. A pathetic attempt at clearing his throat made no difference, so he begrudgingly forced his eyes open, squinting at the brutal whiteness that surrounded him, and pushed himself up from his laying position. He grunted at the pain that ran through his chest, but ignored it. When his eyes had adjusted, he looked around, hoping to find a drink. He struggled to turn to inspect his surroundings enough for a drink. But from the view that he did have, he found Fiona, asleep in a large chair, her brown curls handing around her face in a tangled mess, her face showing the signs of worry and sleeplessness in the form of dark shadows under her eyes.

"Fi… Fiona," Ian croaked out, his voice meek, but still enough to rouse his sister.

"Ian?! Ian, you're awake! Thank God!" Fiona choked out, her eyes brimming with tears as she stood up, calling down the corridor "Nurse? Nurse! My brother's awake!"

There was a flurry of _Ian_ s called out, and the voices made their way in to the room, all of them barging their way through the door to pile on their brother. There were so many people around, Ian couldn't think, didn't know what to do or where to look, and suddenly his breathing was becoming sharper and quicker. He tried to breathe in, but it felt like there was a lump in his throat that wouldn't budge, stopping him from being able to get any air. Fiona was the first to notice.

"Guys, get off him, give him some fucking space!" She came closer to him as the others moved away. "Get out for a minute, guys," she told them, pouring a glass of water for him as she stepped towards him again, taking his hand and looking him straight in the eye. "Ian, you… you gotta' calm down. Look at me. Don't look away from me. We're gonna' breathe. That's all we're gonna' do: breathe," Fiona explained calmly, taking long, deep breaths.

He couldn't. He couldn't breathe. It was like he was drowning on air or something. He gestured to his throat, shaking his head as worry continued to overtake him, tears threatening to fall.

"You can. You can, Ian. You're just havin' a panic attack. Now look at me." She put the water down and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his other hand and looking directly at him with the tears still in her eyes. "Just take deep breaths with me, hon, you can do this. Just slowly. Deep breaths."

He could see the fear in Fiona's eyes, he imagined it wasn't too far from his own, but he tried not to focus on that. He closed his eyes, just listening to the sound of Fiona's deep breaths, trying shakily to breathe in sync with her.

"That's it. You're… you're doing awesome. Just keep breathing with me. Don't stop. Don't think of anything else, just focus on your breathing. Keep going." His sister reassured him, her hands squeezing his comfortingly.

Ian could slowly feel his throat begin to gradually open up more. And soon he was breathing almost normally, just slightly laboured. Tears spilt down his cheeks when he opened them, looking to his big sister and seeing her own fear slowly seeping away, relief flooding her face. Ian ignored all of the pain he felt and allowed himself to lean in to the warmth of her chest.

"You're okay, sweetie, you're okay. We're all here, we're here for you," she soothed, holding him close and stroking his hair gently.

"Ian Gallagher?" A small voice said.

"About fucking time. He's just had a panic attack, but you guys were clearly too busy to come and help him," Fiona said, her voice protective. She stood up so that she could get the water and handed it to him. "You got it?" Ian nodded in response, holding the glass in both of his hands, one of which he was now noticing was in a cast (his right). "Good. So, you gonna' check him over or just stand there and watch?" She asked sternly, turning on the nurse.

"If you'd like to leave the room so we can examine Ian, please, Miss Gallagher?" The nurse replied, her voice wavering slightly for a moment as she avoided Fiona's gaze. Ian now saw that the owner of the small voice was equally as petite as it, with blonde hair pulled up in to a harsh bun.

"So long as you're actually gonna' take care of him," Fiona stared at the nurse hard for a moment before turning on her heel and walking out of the room to questions of how Ian was from their siblings.

"Hello, Ian, how are you?" The nurse asked. Ian didn't know what she was thinking, so he just stared at her blankly. "Are you in any pain?" Ian nodded. "Where? And on a scale of one to ten," Ian told her, and she said that they would up his morphine dosage. She then took some bloods, checked his chest with a stethoscope, and recorded his heart rate from the monitor.

"Now, do you remember what happened? Why you're here, I mean." Ian shook his head, his memory drawing a blank. "No? Okay, well, you fell out of a window. Two storeys up. You broke three ribs, cracked two, punctured your left lung, and have some nasty bruising on your chest. You've also got two broken bones in your wrist, a broken middle finger. Both of your ankles were sprained, but they should be on the mend, so walking shouldn't be limited for too long, but again, a lot of bruising. But, you're lucky that the ambulance was pretty quick, so, as you can see, we've patched you up. We're gonna' keep you in until you're better. We're also gonna' do a psych evaluation, and then take things from there." The nurse seemed to be reading from a list, her finger trailing down the clipboard she held as she spoke at Ian in such a fast manner that he struggled to take everything in. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask me?" Very slowly, Ian shook his head, and she nodded in response "Well, someone will be round to check on you in an hour or so. Call someone if you need anything. I'll just sort your morphine and then I'll leave you to get some rest."

The nurse then left. He could hear her speaking to Fiona before his family came in to the room to see him again. "Now, guys, just remember not to overwhelm him, he's been in a coma for four days, remember," Fiona said as she took her place in the chair beside his bed again. "Go and get some chairs from the corridor, guys," she told their other siblings.

"Hey, man," Lip said when he'd brought a chair in and put it on the other side of his bed, his blue eyes glistening more than usual with tears of relief "how you doin'?"

"Yeah, all right. You guys? What'd I miss while I was away?"

Lip shook his head, replying "Nothing much, Frank upset Sheila, so we had him on the couch again for a week."

"I'm class president!" Debbie exclaimed with a grin that stretched across her face.

Ian couldn't help but grin himself, looking so much like his youngest sister when he did that. The pair of them definitely looked the most like they were related with their matching red hair that curled slightly and the spatter of freckles across their noses. Maybe the similarities which they shared so much in were one of the reasons he had such a soft spot for her.

"That's awesome, Debs! Come here," he told her, putting his arms out to invite her in for a hug. And then he noticed their youngest sibling wasn't with them. "Where's Liam?"

"He's staying with Vee and Kev, apparently he's been awesome at entertaining Gemma and Amy. Vee said he gets on so well with them," Debbie told him after she had returned Ian's hug.

"Ah, that sounds nice. Must be nice for the girls too. What about you, Carl? What have you vandalised? Break anyone's bones? What is it this time?" Ian asked his younger brother with a smirk.

Carl looked to Ian proudly, his eyes already telling Ian that whatever he ahd done had not been good, "Broke some kid's collar bone; got suspended for a week."

Ian laughed lightly, saying "Well, sounds like I missed a lot."

"Yeah," Fiona put in, "So, where did you go? Police said they found you in some abandoned warehouse two states over with loads of people,"

Ian rubbed a hand up the back of his neck. "Not really sure where I was, but I just remember having a really awesome time, made loads of friends. It was great," he cleared his throat before saying "I'm, uh, I'm pretty tired. You guys mind leaving me to get some sleep?"

The eldest of the Gallagher children nodded, saying "We'll come by and see you tomorrow morning, yeah?" The siblings stood up and said their goodbyes to their brother before leaving his room.

When it came to Fiona, Ian caught her hand and said "Do you, uh, do you know why the nurse said I gotta' have a psych evaluation?"

Fiona's face fell a little. "You… you haven't noticed, have you?"

Ian's face was full of confusion, his brow furrowed. "Noticed what?"

"I… I think… well, _we_ think that, uh, you might… you might be following in Monica's footsteps a little… mentally…" Fiona looked down to her feet uncomfortably.

 _No_. Ian was shaking his head vigorously "No. No, I'm not, Fiona. Why… why would you guys think that?"

"Ian, you know the nurse said that you fell out of a window?" Ian nodded slowly. "You didn't. Police told us that you jumped out. Yeah? You jumped out of a second storey window, from an abandoned warehouse, full of naked people surrounded by drugs. And you'd been away for nearly two weeks. And before that you slept for four days straight. Can you not see how that could kinda' look a little Monica-like?" Fiona took his hand, looking him in the eye earnestly.

"No. I can't. I'm just having a little fun. And I was tired. There's nothing wrong with that." Ian said, his voice firm.

"Ian, honey… you… you need he-"

"Don't tell me what I need!" Ian said, his voice louder, "Just leave. If you're gonna' be like this just don't bother coming again." He snatched his hand out of Fiona's and looked away from her, feeling his eyes brimming with angry tears as he face burned with as much.

Fiona tried to take his hand again, but Ian pulled even farther away from her, "Ian…"

"Get out, Fiona!" Ian didn't look at his sister as she left, he didn't want to see the look on her face.

The psych evaluation didn't go too well. When it came to it, Ian wasn't in a good state. The nurses tried to get him to cooperate for the evaluation, but all he did was lay in his bed with the covers up to his nose and stare blankly at the ceiling. Ian didn't know this, but he was suffering from a period of depression. He couldn't be given any medication until he was evaluated, and he was not going to be evaluated. He wasn't going to move if he could help it.

After two weeks, Ian finally seemed to return to his normal state, and he was begrudgingly evaluated. His siblings had been right, and he had inherited Monica's vicious disease. The worst part about it, though, was that Ian didn't believe it. He didn't believe what he was told, that he had bipolar disorder, because… well, _he didn't_. Like he told Fiona, he just had more fun some days than others. Of course, his denial didn't help his case, and tranquilisers were involved. A lot of tranquilisers were needed in order to medicate Ian, and then he was admitted to an institution for four weeks (which was questionable dependent upon his cooperation), by the law. He was tried without being present as the outcome was arguably obvious to anyone, and it was that he would be institutionalised and not sentenced for the breaking and entering, use of drugs, and demolition.

Ian still wasn't talking to his brothers and sisters, and was taken to the institute in an ambulance alone without seeing his siblings, only seeing the insides of the ambulance car that transported him there and the two nurses who were required to assist in his transfer.


	3. Chapter Two

_**Chapter Two**_

Ian woke up in a plain-looking room. It had two sets of bunk beds in it, one of which he was occupying the bottom bunk of, two chests of drawers beneath the window, and that was it to the room save for a basic analogue clock hanging on the wall. There was a doorway which he could see other people through. All of them wore grey. Ian looked to the foot of his bed to see a matching grey outfit waiting for him. With a sigh he heaved himself out of bed and looked at the chests of drawers to see two drawers with stickers on that bore his name (very unlike Ian, his curiosity subsided, and he didn't even glance at the other stickers to see whom he would be rooming with). He went in to one of the drawers to find several sets of boxers, socks, a pair of black swim shorts, and a pair of plain slip-on shoes. In the other he found two more of the grey outfits, two white towels, and a net wash bag containing soap, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a face cloth. Well, his wardrobe was even less extensive than his one back home, if that were possible. He grabbed a pair of clean boxers and socks, a towel, his wash bag, and then pulled on his hideous grey outfit before wandering out of the room to find out where he could get a shower.

"Woah, where do you think you're going?" A guy in an authoritative outfit asked him as he went in search of the bathroom.

"Shower?" Ian said rhetorically, staring down at the belongings which were in his arms for explanation.

"No smart ass remarks, kid. You should be in a session," the 'guard' told him, pointing down the long corridor to a set of double doors. This didn't really tell Ian much.

"Sorry, I'm new. Came in last night," Ian shrugged, looking down to his feet uncomfortably.

The 'guard' nodded, "Okay, in which, case, if you wait a minute, I'll have someone come and tell you the ins and outs and how everything works." He then spoke down to his radio, telling someone to come down to 'Elm 3'. He noticed Ian's look of confusion and explained "Each floor's named after a tree, and each room is numbered. You're Elm 3. Six rooms to a floor, a shower room and then a bathroom – toilets, sinks, mirrors – a pill station, and a rec room. I'm a monitor. Minimum of two of us on each floor – depends on risk assessments for the floors – six on the bottom two floors. Ground floor, Willow, is where the dining hall is, the large communal hall, the group therapy rooms, and the library. Beech is second floor, there's the individual therapy rooms, clinic, and solitary. Oak is next, that's the same as this – living – and then you, Elm, are fourth floor. Ash is above us, also living, female, and Larch is the top floor, that's where all the offices are, the on-call rooms, and the live-in quarters for staff."

Ian stared at the monitor in confusion. "Am... am I meant to remember all that? 'Cause I only got up ten minutes ago and I'm still high on tranqs."

The monitor shook his head with an understanding smile, "Nah, most of the time the place you'll need to be in will be written on your timetable."

"Damn, I thought I was done with school," Ian said flatly. The monitor laughed and looked behind Ian towards a guy in an outfit which looked similar to scrubs, but white instead.

"Joe, is this the new one?" They called towards the monitor, whom Ian assumed must be Joe.

Joe nodded his head and said "Yep, this is him. Just been giving him a verbal map."

"Okay, I'll take it from here, thanks, Joe." The guy said. "Hello, I'm Kurtis. Who are you? I'm sorry, we had several newbies admitted last night," Kurtis chuckled lightly as he looked to Ian.

"Ian… Gallagher." Ian replied, not looking the guy in the eyes.

Kurtis nodded and looked down a clipboard, "Yeah, okay. You're in for bipolar disorder, is that correct?"

"Apparently." Ian grunted.

"You're on six hundred milligrams of lithium morning, afternoon, and evening, twenty of lurasidone in the morning, and five of asenapine in the morning and evening, so let's go and get your first dose and then I'll take you out of the way to explain some more about how we work here."

Ian nodded and followed Kurtis to the pill station where he was asked his name and then given a paper cup containing his pills and a cup of water. When asked if he had eaten (he hadn't), he was given a granola bar and made to eat there before taking the pills in front of the dispensary nurse. The nurse leant slightly over the dividing wall of the 'hatch' and told Ian to open his mouth and raise his tongue so they could check he had taken the medication. He begrudgingly did as instructed before being taken away by Kurtis to an empty individual therapy room on Beech.

"So, Ian, as you saw, pills are checked on a list. They're also done on an identity card scheme, however, yours hasn't been issued yet, so that was why I had to speak to the dispensary nurse on your behalf. If you don't get your pills an hour after the desired times, you'll be called over the loudspeaker to go and take them. You have a timetable to follow to help you integrate yourself in to recovery. Visits are Wednesday and Sunday afternoons, but that is based on behaviour and cooperation. There is free time scheduled in to your timetable, but again this is based on attendance to individual and group therapy. So, if you don't attend a session you would have to attend it in your free time." Kurtis stopped for a moment. "Are you following so far?" Ian grunted out a yes.

"Good. Wake up is around eight, breakfast is eight thirty, so that gives you time to shower if you wish. You then have to get your pills after breakfast, and your first timetable slot of the day begins at nine thirty. Each session is an hour and a half, but some sessions are flexible and may finish earlier or later than others, so there are fifteen minutes spare between each timetable slot. Lunch is at one, and you have until two to eat and get your pills. You have one last timetable slot for the day, and then your free time is from three thirty until dinner, which is at six, and lights out is at nine thirty, so again you have some free time to yourself between dinner and lights out if you prefer to shower in the evening." Kurtis looked through some sheets on his clipboard before pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to Ian. "Your timetable. It's colour-coded, and the locations you need to be in are written on there as well." He paused. "There's signs at every staircase saying what is where, so a map isn't necessary.

"So, I'm sure Joe told you that we have a solitary section. It's used for non-cooperation, acting out, poor behaviour, and sometimes for the safety of others or yourselves. There is an area for sports and exercise outside, we also have an indoor pool and gym on the grounds, and as Joe mentioned there is the library on Willow. These areas are treated as a privilege, so poor behaviour will lead to you not being able to be admitted to these areas. This brings me nicely on to the card system. You have an identity card with a barcode which is unique to you. This allows you to access areas, kind of like in universities and colleges. You can access your own level, the two lower communal levels, and the privilege areas, but as I said, the latter are if your behaviour permits it. And finally, we work on a three strike policy for solitary. Three strikes in a week and it's solitary. It's not very enjoyable, so I advise you avoid it by cooperating." Kurtis cleared his throat. "Now, I think that's everything apart from getting your I.D. card sorted. We'll go and do that in a moment. Do you have any questions for me?" Again, Ian was quiet and simply shook his head, trying to appear as though he had taken in and understood what had been said to him. "All right then, come with me." Ian was then taken to an office upstairs where he had an I.D. card made with his picture and barcode on. He was told to keep it clipped on his person in a visible place.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, you can make a call once every other day to your family or a friend, again based on good behaviour and cooperation. So, with everything said, feel free to go upstairs and shower. You aren't expected in any of your timetable slots today as it's your settling in day, so feel free to explore and make yourself familiar, but don't disturb any sessions. I'd advise the library for today maybe."

Ian nodded for what he hoped was the last time and walked away from Kurtis, not thanking him, simply making a beeline for his room to fetch his things from his bed to shower.

In the shower room, he saw what looked like the shower room of a locker room in a high school, cubicles with curtains filling the centre of the room and a hook for one's towel outside of the cubicle. Ian stripped down, placed his clothes on a work surface on the edges, and made his way in to a cubicle, hanging his towel outside and taking his soap and wash cloth in with him. He turned the water on as hot as he could handle it and just stood with his hands against the wall as the spray trickled down his back. Everything he had been told today had just gone over his head. He was being medicated for a disorder he didn't have, and being forced to live with a bunch of loons. Could Ian's life be any shittier?

"No, it could not," Ian muttered to himself, reaching to turn the heat up a little. " _No, it fucking could not!_ " He yelled, punching the cubicle wall repeatedly, his body full of rage. How could they? How could his family let this happen to him? Why had they not fought for him? It just didn't make any sense. It was as though they hated him. At this thought, he felt one single tear form in his eye and get washed away by the shower. He felt so betrayed. He continued to punch the wall as the hot water pounded down on his back, almost scalding his pale skin. He didn't care though, he just felt so angry and so hurt. His emotions felt insanely conflicting and confusing right now, and he didn't know what to make of them, or of himself for that matter.

Finally, when Ian felt just a fraction better, he stopped pounding the hell out of the shower and his knuckles and turned down the shower to wash the blood off of hands. Stopping the blood, though was another thing.

With a sigh, Ian wrapped his wash cloth round one hand and kept his towel on the other. Once he was dressed, he made his way out to find the clinic and get some Band-Aids. When he got there, the nurse asked nothing (which he was slightly surprised about), and simply sat him down whilst she cleaned, sterilised, and wrapped his hands in bandages with a little gauze. "Better than a Band-Aid," she smiled warmly before asking Ian for his I.D. card, explaining that she had to log his visit in to the system. When he asked why, she said that it was just to keep his medical records up to date. She handed back his I.D. card and sent him away with a warm smile, explaining the laundry system to him when she saw him go to pick up his blood-covered towel and wash cloth (there was a collection every other day). Ian grunted out a thanks before heading down a floor to find this rumoured library. He saw the larger rec room and several group therapy sessions happening on his way to the library. What he found was much larger than a high school library.

For a while he just looked across the titles. Ian had always enjoyed reading. It was like an escape, like being able to get away from his crappy life, and instead he could pretend to be viewing someone else's life, better or worse than his. If it was worse, it made him feel better about his own, and a better one he would let himself fall in to the story, imagine he was that character and that, for then, that better life was his.

He left the library with a copy of Charles Dickins' _Great Expectations_ , a classic he had seen on TV and thought it wasn't too terrible. And after that he made his way back to his room to start the book. He wasn't far in to his book before he had fallen asleep, the novel open on his chest.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Chapter Three**_

When Ian woke up the small window wasn't letting in any light, only the dim shadow of dusk. He sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily, only remembering where he was after a few minutes. Sighing to himself, Ian looked around for his book – he definitely remembered sleeping with it. He got off of his bed, thinking that maybe he had rolled over in his sleep and it had fallen off.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty fuckin' wakes up!" Ian heard a voice say from behind him. Turning around, he was met by a guy with black hair and pale skin on the bunk above his. "Who the fuck are you then, newbie?" Ian looked at the guy sceptically for a moment. "I ain't gonna' fuckin' bite, I just asked your name. I'm Mickey.

"Ian," he replied flatly, looking under his bed for the copy of _Great Expectations_.

"Lookin' for this?" Mickey said, waving the copy of the book in the air.

Ian nodded, making his way towards Mickey, "Yeah, thanks," he reached out to take the book.

"Ah, ah. Whatcha' gonna' do for me?" Mickey asked, snatching the book back before Ian could grasp it.

Ian raised an eyebrow at him before stepping up on his own bunk to reach for the book in Mickey's hand. Before he could, Mickey had leant forward, caught his hand in a vice-like grip and twisted it slightly to the point that it was bordering on causing Ian pain. What hurt more was the way he was gripping his hand and how it was pressing on his bruised, bloody knuckles.

"I _said_ , whatcha' gonna' do for me?" Mickey said, his voice lower, harder.

"What do you want?" Ian asked, not sure how to act. He didn't know what this guy was in for, what he had, how rational he was or wasn't, and whether he was willing to hurt him.

Mickey looked around the room briefly. It was only the two of them in there. He looked Ian in the eye before softening his grip on Ian's hand, not enough to let the redhead pull it away, but enough for him to not be in as much pain. Mickey kept a hold of Ian's hand, pulling it towards himself, placing it on his crotch, where he began to move it over his cock which was slowly becoming visible through his pants. Mickey's eye didn't leave Ian's once as he kept control over Ian's hand, moving it faster. He soon came, his eyes closing as his breathing became deeper. This was the first time Ian had seen him not look like he wanted to kill someone. He moved Ian's hand when he was finished, but he still didn't let it go, maintaining a vice-like grip on it.

Mickey leaned forward and whispered "That's what I want," in to Ian's ear, letting his lip brush against the shell of his ear gently, sending a shiver up his spine.

Ian didn't know how to react. He just held Mickey's eye contact and nodded his head slowly, letting out a small hum of acknowledgement. His hand being let go of, and he pulled away quickly before stepping down and sitting on his bed, his legs crossed underneath him as he stared in to his lap, cradling his hand slightly as it throbbed. He was so zoned out that he didn't hear Mickey jumping down from his bunk, didn't notice him getting closer until _Great Expectations_ was placed in his lap and a whisper of " _It's always better when it's someone else's hand_ ," brushed against his ear. Ian didn't respond, he just placed the book beside him and continued to stare at his hands. He had no idea what he should think or how he should feel, so he didn't, he just went back to sleep, the book hugged to his chest.

Sleeping just seemed like the right thing to do, like it was what Ian was intended to do. He was convinced of that until he began to stir. Someone was shaking him. "Yo, Sleeping Beauty, wake up, it's dinner time," the person was saying as they nudged at his leg.

Ian tried so hard to resist the waking, but it wasn't going to happen, and so he gently opened his eyes, looking up at the voice. It was Mickey. Ian recoiled slightly when he felt Mickey's foot nudging at his leg.

"Woah, no need to look like a fucking puppy about to be kicked," Mickey said. "I said it's dinner time. You slept through breakfast, I'm assumin' lunch, so you gotta' come on. You're probably a set of pills or two down today I'm guessin'."

Ian grimaced at the mention of pills.

"I don't fuckin' like 'em either, but it keeps me out of the prison that is solitary. And don't mistake this for me carin' or nothin', I just can't lose my little bitch. So, come on, Sleeping Beauty, get up." Mickey snapped, clapping his hands.

Ian rubbed a hand over his face before standing up, scruffing his hair back and forth a little and slipping on the hideous shoes that he was given. _Wow, they were comfy!_ He then followed Mickey, who was gesturing him towards the stairwell.

"Come with me. There's some fuckin' weirdos in here that you don't wanna' sit near, they'll rip your fucking eyelids off and shove 'em up your ass if you look at 'em funny." Mickey advised once they'd collected their dinner.

"So, does that… make you one of the normal ones?" Ian asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. He most definitely didn't seem normal from Ian's experiences, he seemed quite a few bulbs short of normal.

"I am fuckin' normal, I'm just in here for anger issues and shit," Mickey said, his voice changing to a more defensive tone. "So, what're you in for?" Mickey asked when they sat down at a table with three guys that he assumed Mickey knew.

"I shouldn't be," Ian mumbled as he began to push his food around his plate, not having much of an appetite.

"You and ninety percent of this joint," Mickey chuckled. The three guys across the table chorused along with Mickey's very distinctive laugh. "By the way, this is Jared, James, and Henry. Jared and James room with us and Henry's down on Oak, he used to be in my group before he moved floors. Guys, this is Ian."

"T this fucking duckling under your wing," the lankey-looking boy Mickey had c rust you take alled Jared laughed to himself, while the short, stocky boy next to him – Henry? – smirked and nudged him on the arm.

Ian raised an eyebrow at them, not sure whether he should have been insulted or not. "He seems to go for redheads, we're not sure why," Henry put in, shrugging his broad shoulders.

Ian side-eyed a look at Mickey to see a slight blush creeping up his neck, his face set on his food as he continued to shovel it in. Ian just looked back to his own plate where he wa sstill scraping his food back and forth had slowly started to mush it up.

"For fucks sake, eat your fuckin' food or don't, just don't make it look like a pile of shit and put me off mine," Mickey snapped, turning on Ian with a hostile look. The boy in question looked deeply in to his mushed up food as he put his fork down slowly and began to rub his hands over the bandages on his knuckles. After a minute or so, he stood up and left, making his way for the pill station.

"Ian Gallagher," Ian said to the dispensary nurse, handing his I.D. card over.

"Missed some lithium this afternoon," The nurse pointed out, handing Ian his cup of pills and some water. After he'd swallowed the pills she demanded "Open. Okay, you're good."

Ian then traipsed his way back to his room, getting his stuff and going for another shower, feeling like he needed to let off some steam (aside from washing away the feeling of Mickey on him earlier).

Ian was lucky that nobody was in the showers; probably still eating he assumed. He leant against the counter to take the bandages and gauze off of his hands, seeing the large scabs and dark bruises that covered his knuckles on each hand. He sighed and dropped the bandages on the surface, going in to the cubicle farthest from the doorway and turning the water on high. Within moments Ian was pounding at the wall of the cubicle again, the nurse's handiwork earlier wasted. Ian's hands hurt so much. They hurt to the point that his whole body throbbed with ache. And then Ian just let himself fall to the floor, his head banging against the wall slightly as he landed. Tears fell silently, his face crumpling up in hurt. Not about his hands, about everything else. Mickey, the betrayal of his family, the fact he was here, just everything. Ian then sat with his head in his hands, the water splashing against his skin like a thunderous storm (it was very much representative of his life at that point), blood still dripping from his hands and tinting the water a washy pink.

Oh, how he missed being home, having people around him who didn't force him to do things he didn't want to, didn't make him fear for his life, and didn't seem to constantly treat him like a game. He didn't understand Mickey, it was like he was the bipolar one back there. For a while, Ian didn't move, but then he heard people begin to enter the shower room, so he got up and wrapped himself in his towel, covering his hands by holding his dirty clothes over them so nobody would see. He walked in to the bathroom and went in to the cubicle to get some tissue to hold back the bleeding. After brushing his teeth quickly, he made his way back to his room where he pulled on a pair of boxers and climbed in to bed, not paying attention to who was or wasn't in there. He dropped off almost instantly in to a dull lull without a dream.

Ian woke with a start, and looked at the wall clock to see that it was three fifteen in the morning. With a disgruntled sigh, he got up to make his way to the bathroom, going for a leak before splashing his face with some cold water. God, he really shouldn't be here. He could hear a person screaming, he assumed they were suffering from nightmares or some crappy hallucinations. He looked down at his hands on the way back to his room, seeing that the bruises were darker and spread way past his knuckles. Blood was smeared across his hands. _Guess the tissue didn't work too well_ , Ian thought to himself, turning in to his room with a slight sigh as he rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. A small creak was emitted from the bed as he climbed back in under the white sheets, only now noticing the blood on them that the tissue had not soaked up very well – at all. "Fucking cheap ass shit," Ian muttered under his breath, laying down and trying not to lay in the bloody areas of his sheets.

"D'you mind? Some of us are tryina' not sleep in peace," Mickey's voice said, the silhouette of his head poking down from his own bed.

"Sorry," Ian mumbled, shuffling himself deeper under his white sheets.

Mickey jumped down from his bunk. "Well, if you're not sleepin', move over and make some room," he whispered, climbing under Ian's sheets, forcing the redhead to roll on to his side and move over. "Shoulda' just gone to the nurse again, less mess," Mickey mumbled, reaching under the covers to fish out Ian's hands and observe his knuckles, prodding in certain areas.

"Oww," Ian hissed, snatching his hands back.

"Stop being such a fuckin' pussy, I'm just seein' if anythin' is broken or if they're still good to work their magic," Mickey said, and Ian could just hear the smirk in his voice without even looking at him. He took Ian's hands again and had one last feel of each of them before saying "Nah, seems good. But if you want some pain you're better to cut or some shit, only damages yourself, not whatever wall you've been demolishin' in this place," putting his hands under the sheets, he threw his boxers out from under them before saying "We'll get you a couple razors or somethin'." Mickey must have noticed that Ian was giving him a suspecting look, because Mickey suddenly said "I like your hands working and that face of yours clean-shaven. Just… don't do it somewhere obvious, you'll get picked up on it and moved to a higher monitor detail. And of course you'll look like a fuckin' walkin' stereotype." Mickey then took one of Ian's hands and moved it under the sheets.

Ian stared Mickey straight in the face, but Mickey looked away as he guided Ian's hand sideways of where he wanted it the most. He could feel Mickey guiding his hand on to his leg, and he was sliding his fingers up and down his thigh, his fingers tingling as he felt the numerous ridges that felt like the rungs of a ladder. He noticed they stopped half way down his thigh, just enough so that swimming shorts and boxers would still cover them.

"Tactical," Mickey muttered, still not meeting Ian's eyes.

Ian stopped his hand for a moment, not allowing Mickey to move it, letting his hands hover over the scars, "Why are you really here? That's not just anger issues," Ian's voice was gentle and curious at the same time.

"I said 'and shit'," was the muffled response Ian heard.

"So, what is this shit, then?" Ian whispered softly.

"B.P.D.," Mickey mumbled out before taking control of Ian's hand again and placing it on his semi-hard cock. He then began to pump Ian's hand up and down his still-growing member, his blue eyes still focused on anything but Ian's face.

"No," Ian whispered, trying to stop Mickey's control of his hand, feeling a little courage surge through his veins.

Mickey seemed taken aback as he repeated "No?"

"I'll… I'll do this if you want but… I… I want something out of it,"

"Ooh, a dealer. Okay, what d'you want? We'll see if it can be arranged,"

"I don't want to be used like a puppet, for one," Ian began, watching Mickey's face for some sign of how he might react. This was dangerous ground, Ian knew that, and he head to tread lightly, as cautiously as though he were walking through a mine field. Then again, all interaction he had with Mickey up until then had been very much the same. "And… I want a little somethin' out of this too, if you get me..." He felt Mickey let go of his hand, then moving it slowly towards Ian's leg, running it high up his thigh gently, slowly. The motion was so unlike Mickey that Ian actually flinched at the touch. Ian exhaled, he was unsure of how Mickey was going to respond, but this seemed like it could be a safe answer, he had expected anger.

"This okay? More? Less? I'm guessing you're a virgin," Mickey asked softly, still not looking at Ian, his eyes looking down at his bare chest instead.

Ian hummed lightly as Mickey began to slip his hand in to Ian's boxers which were becoming tighter. He slowly began to move his own hand gently up and down Mickey's shaft, his fingers cautionary and meek.

As Mickey began to move Ian's boxers down with his wrist, his hand not moving away from Ian's length. Ian couldn't take it, he lifted himself up slightly and pulled down his boxers himself, leaving them at his knees before putting his hand back on Mickey's cock and beginning to pump his hand again up and down. And Mickey showed him some proper attention, and it felt pretty good. Mickey had done this before, he knew what to do, how to twist and turn his hand, when to tighten or loosen his grip. Ian realised that in all of the sexual encounters he had had with girls, he had never actually paid attention to what they had done to him, just simply accepted the pleasure.

"Sorry," Ian whispered, not intending to say it aloud.

"What?" Confusion laced Mickey's single syllable. "Why you apologisin'?"

"It's nothing."

"Just remember I'm holdin' your dick here when you lie to me. Now, why you apologisin'?"

Ian sighed and pulled his hand back. He then put a hand on Mickey's that was treating him well and moved it away from him, pulling his boxers back up. "It's nothing," he replied, curling in on himself slightly.

"What the fuck is your problem? Just tell me. I don't care, I just wanna' know," Mickey persisted, looking Ian's constantly-moving eyes straight on.

Ian felt scared a little, he couldn't quite tell how Mickey was feeling because his whisper muffled the emotion from his voice. "I'm… sorry it's… I'm not… not that good," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh, shut the fuck up and get your hand back on my dick," Mickey commanded as he put an arm round Ian's neck and pulled him closer, crashing his lips on to the ginger boy's, kissing him hard.


	5. Chapter Four

_**Chapter Four**_

Mickey awoke to find himself still on Ian's bed at six thirty five, the pair of them with limbs hanging over one another or the edge of the bed. He quickly shuffled himself out of the bed, pulled on his boxers, and climbed back up on to his own bunk, having once last glance at Ian's sleeping form before he nestled himself under his sheets.

Cold.

These sheets didn't have Ian's warmth.

The next day Ian found himself feeling a little more positive. Not a lot, but some. Maybe it was the pills starting to kick in. _Don't delude yourself_ , a small voice in his head hissed. Ian rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms up high, hearing a crack come from his back before he heard one above him. This one wasn't as satisfying as the first. "Fuck! Fucking son of a bitch!" He swore when his hands punched the bars above his head, forgetting that he was in a bunk bed. Looking at his hands, Ian saw that had opened some of the cuts on his knuckles. And then his mind went back to the conversations he and Mickey had had last the night before.

"What'd you hit?" Someone grumbled out. Ian looked around for the voice. It was the top bunk on the other set of bunk beds. He looked over to see Jared from yesterday.

"Bruised fists," Ian sighed. "Shitty bunk beds."

"I know, it sucks. It's why I swapped with Jamesy underneath here. Fucker never wakes up, has to be pulled out of bed, so it makes sense," Jared shrugged, laying back down and sighing. "So, uh, what happened last night, then? Saw you had a little bed bug join you last night."

"None of your God damned fuckin' business!" Mickey piped up.

Jared sighed, "You know I fucking hate when you do that."

"Never fuckin' do nothin'," Mickey replied, a smirk in his voice.

Jared sighed, "Playing fucking fly on the wall, you bastard."

"From what you were askin' Sleepin' Beauty down there, seems like maybe you were doin' it too."

"You don't know the meaning of a whisper, Mick, that's why I had to play fly on the wall," Jared laughed, jumping down from his bed to head to the bathroom. Ian decided that it was late enough that there was no point going back to sleep, and so he got up, collected his things for a shower, cleaning himself and his hands off before heading to the bathroom. A quick pee, brush of his teeth and an attempt at styling his hair, and then Ian was ready for the day. He quickly got some toilet paper on his way out for his still-bleeding knuckles.

He wandered back in to his room to get dressed before heading down to the clinic, asking the nurse to patch his knuckles up. She made him stay for a five minutes with ice on his hands, hoping that he would be in less pain. She logged his visit while he waited. She, like Mickey, had felt about on his knuckles for breaks, and had said the same as the dark-haired boy had. When Ian went to leave, the nurse told him "You're going to do some serious damage to your hands, maybe try and find another way of outlet with your therapist," and sent him off with a sad smile.

Ian made his way to the dining room, collecting his breakfast and some orange juice and going to an empty table. He had seen the table that Mickey, Jared, and Henry were sitting at, but he didn't want to invite himself over, so he just kept to himself that meal. He found it safer after Mickey's minor outbursts at dinner the night before. He remembered Mickey saying B.P.D., but he didn't have a clue what that stood for, let alone what it was. And he didn't think it was clever to ask. And so he didn't chance finding out what it was with first-hand experience. In that moment, he felt himself feel a little sadder, a little lonelier.

"Hey… you're, umm, in my seat," a meek voice came from a tall, mousy girl.

"What?" Ian asked, wondering if the girl was serious. He was on an empty table. There were five other places at the table he was on. He told her this.

"No, it's _my_ seat. You can't sit in my seat," she said quickly, her voice almost panicky. When he just looked at her emotionlessly, she suddenly screamed and threw the plate with her food on to the table, smashing it, sending food flying across the table and Ian. He didn't have any time to respond before she was throwing herself on to him. She had taken him by surprise, and had a shocking amount of strength in her, causing him to fall out of his seat and on to the floor. And then she began to scratch at him, her small hands armed with sharp nails.

In that moment, Ian didn't know what to do, so he just reached up and tried to grab her rapidly moving hands. "What the fuck is your problem? Get off of me and take your stupid fucking seat, I was done anyway," he shouted, pushing her away from him and standing up. By then a monitor had come and was restraining the mousy girl, holding her back and carrying her out of the dining room. Ian stood up, brushed himself off, ignoring the looks he was getting, and swiped some of the shattered plate off of the table before gripping it tightly in his palm and heading for the bathroom. He slammed the lid of the toilet down angrily and sat himself on the seat, pulling his pants down and sliding his boxers up. He only stopped for a moment of thought before he hesitantly put the shard to his leg, taking a deep breath as he pushed down hard and dragged it across the upper part of his thigh. He needed out of this shitty place. Ian was sure that his mental health was better when he was home. Never in a million years would he have done something like this back home. But he had his family around him there, here he only had himself and his thoughts, and both of those were slowly becoming more scrambled, and slowly more contradictory of themselves. Ian clenched his left hand hard as he moved the shard down slightly, dragging it across his skin haphazardly, exhaling deeply as he felt a slight sense of release. He did this a few more times before he suddenly noticed the blood about to land on his pants. "Ah, shit," he quickly shoved a ball of tissue on the pooling blood that was beginning to trickle down his leg

"Ian Gallagher. Can Ian Gallagher please report to the pill station on Elm immediately."

"Oh, for fuck… shit!" Ian wrapped a bunch of tissue round the ball of tissue that was piled on the cuts and then put his hand in his pocket to hold the tissue there, standing up and leaving the bathroom, the shard of plate wrapped up in tissue and in his other pocket. When he went to the pill station he felt like a fugitive, and he quickly handed his I.D. card over to the dispensary nurse, taking his pills and leaving as quickly as possible. He could feel the material of his pants where his hand was holding the tissue through his pocket becoming wet. Back in the bathroom he was replacing the tissue. Luckily the blood had only gotten to the pocket but had not become visible on the front of his pants.

"Gallagher," Ian heard a familiar voice call as he was sat in the cubicle, "open up."

"Fuck off, I'm taking a dump," Ian called back.

Mickey laughed, "No, you fuckin' ain't, you haven't eaten anything. You ain't got nothin' in you to shit out. Now, fuckin' open up." His voice became louder, he was outside the cubicle.

"Mickey, fuck off!"

"I ain't fuckin' goin' nowhere, I wanna' talk to you, so open the fuckin' door."

Ian sighed and pulled his pants up, opening the door. "What do you want?"

"Talk to you. What the fuck was that in the mess hall with Daisy?" Mickey asked as he stepped in to the cubicle, locking it behind him and sitting against it, looking at Ian as he sat back on the toilet.

"Bitch said I was in her seat. There were loads of others. Fuck that if I was moving." Ian said, his voice hollow.

"I didn't mean that bit." Mickey explained, "I meant was it intentional? I saw you swipe part of the broken plate, did you intend for that to happen?"

Ian shook his head, sighing, "Nope, just a happy accident." He shrugged.

Mickey took a hold of his hands and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up. "Good man," he said, his voice sounding strange. Ian avoided Mickey's gaze, snatching his hands back and stuffing them in to his pockets as he continued to avert his eyes.

"Well, if we're done here, I'm going to bed." Ian said, standing up and waiting for Mickey to move. "Move," he sighed, his voice sounding exasperated. "Please," he finally pleaded when Mickey still didn't move, his voice sounding sad as he looked down to Mickey for the first time.

"No can do. You gotta' go to therapy. If you don't, they're gonna' put you in solitary, and I can't be havin' my little redhead leavin' me," he paused and looked Ian in the eyes when he stood up, "I _can't_." He had pulled Ian's hands from his pockets and was gripping them tightly as he'd spoken.

Ian snatched his hands back and looked down again, not speaking, just trying to get past Mickey.

"No. Come on, we got group first. Where's your timetable say you gotta' be?"

Ian shrugged. He didn't have his timetable on him, it was in one of his drawers. And he didn't particularly want to go to group. He wanted to sleep, to hide himself away, and not come out for a while.

"Don't have it," the red-haired boy mumbled.

"Well, let's go and get it then, princess," Mickey chuckled to himself. He liked the nickname 'princess,' playing on the whole Sleeping Beauty joke. He opened the door and the pair walked back towards their room. Ian instantly flopped on to his bunk, laying on his side and staring at the wall. "Yo, Ian, come on, where's your timetable?"

"Drawer," Ian grumbled, his eyes not moving from the small piece of flaking paint beneath the window.

Mickey went through one drawer and didn't find it, so he looked in the next one, finding Ian's timetable scrunched up in a ball near his boxers. Mickey grabbed the sheet, opened it up, and found that Ian was in room four. _Mood disorder_ , Mickey thought, knowing what each of the group therapy rooms were for. Being here for long enough helped with that.

"Okay, come on, let's go." Mickey said, turning to Ian, "Get up, Sleepin' Beauty, we gotta' go, sessions started five minutes ago."

Ian shook his head, "No, I don't wanna' go," he whispered.

"You need to, man, come on,"

"I don't. I don't need to be here, I don't need pills, and I don't need therapy, I just need to go home," Ian said quietly, his voice hollow again.

Mickey shook his head in response, saying "Don't be fuckin' stupid. If you're in here, it's for a reason, now get up and come one," Mickey bent down and began to pull Ian up, "I don't wanna' do this, but you need to go." He got Ian in to a sitting position and then pulled him up off of the bed. He maintained Ian's weight, holding him upright, "I'm gonna' let go now, okay? And if you don't hold yourself up, I'm gonna' set Daisy on you, so don't fuck around," Mickey commanded, taking his hands away from Ian, still being ready to grab a hold. He'd seen people just drop to the floor when forced to get up. He was lucky that Ian didn't do this, but instead just slouched and slowly - painfully reluctantly – followed Mickey.

"You're in here," Mickey said, gesturing to room four. Ian looked at him blankly before walking in to the room, not looking back.

Mickey waited for a moment, making sure Ian went in to the session. When he saw Ian sitting down, he made his way to his own session, taking a seat and not paying attention to anything that was said. When it came to his turn to speak, he just shrugged his shoulders and said "Yeah, it's been an all right week," and left it at that.


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N:** _Hey, so, don't know if you're enjoying this or not. I just thought I'd mention, because I know that some people might be think 'hey, what the fuck, this isn't Mickey,' but my Mickey isn't canon. My Mickey has B.P.D., and one of the symptoms of that is having such intense, albeit sometimes unstable, relationships. Some sufferers can feel like they can't be left, and some become suicidal if they are left. They may even tell the person this before they separate as an attempt to try and stay with the person. So, that's why Mickey is out of sorts in this story. Of course, not all sufferers have the same symptoms, before someone tries to point that out, but Mickey does have these ones to an extent._

 _All righty then, with that done and said,_

 _Peace out, peeps, stay fab. (NOTE: when I wrote this, I was on an all-nighter, and I told you all to 'peach out')_

 _ **Chapter Five**_

Ian's group session finished, and it seemed as though it had taken forever. Honestly, listening to the others speak had made him almost fall to sleep in his chair. When he got out, he found Mickey waiting outside for him, a small smile spread across his lips as he leant against the staircase.

"How was your first experience of group?" Mickey asked him, half-smiling.

Ian sighed, "Wanted to gouge my eyes out with a spork," he mumbled, "it didn't make sense. Half of the guys in there were painfully depressing and the other half seemed like they were on coke or something."

Mickey looked at him seriously, "And do you realise that you fall in to one of those two?" All that Mickey received from Ian was a hard stare and a small _harrumph_. "Ian, you're fuckin' sick, and you need to accept that and accept the help they're tryna' give you," Mickey told him.

"I'm not." Ian whispered, moving his hair out of his eyes with a sense of unease and nervousness.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you really are. We all are, and we all need the help. And if you wanna' get out of here, you need to take the help. I didn't when I first got in here. By the time I finally accepted it, I'd kept myself in here for an extra month and a half."

Ian didn't know what to say, he wasn't really sure what there was _to_ say. So instead he just turned around and made his way up the stairs, continuing up to their room. Today had already been too much. The day had been both mentally and physically exhausting. Again, he was back on his bed and Mickey had followed him, a frown forming as he went.

"What the fuck are you doin'? We've had this conversation already today," Mickey threw his hands in the air.

"Please, just fuck off and go to your session; leave me alone."

Mickey scoffed, "Fuck you, then," and walked away from his younger roommate, leaving him to drift off.

"Hello? Ian?" A soft voice said as Ian felt a shaking on his arm. He groaned and tried to bat away the person in his sleep, desperately clinging on to his comfortable slumber. During his nap, everything was simple and calm. "Ian, wake up."

Rubbing his eyes and turning over, Ian found a small, dark-skinned women standing at his bedside. "Who the fuck are you?" He grumbled out, squinting at the obtrusive light.

"I'm Tanya, I'm your personal therapist. Your friend came and told me that you weren't in the best mood to attend. I thought I'd come to you seeing as it is your first session. This is always the most important one," She said as she moved towards James' bed. "Do you mind?" She asked, gesturing to the unmade bed, asking to sit. Ian shrugged, so she sat down and said "Now, Ian, how are you?"

"Tired. Pissed off. I shouldn't be here," he mumbled, knotting his fingers together underneath his bed sheets.

"Why do you think you shouldn't be here, Ian?"

"I'm not… I'm not sick. I'm not… I'm not like her…" he stammered out.

Tanya furrowed her brow, "Like who?"

"Monica."

Tanya looked through some sheets on her clipboard, "Oh, yes, that's your mother, isn't it? She was diagnosed with bipolar, like yourself."

Shaking his head viciously, Ian shouted "No! I'm not! I'm not like her! I wouldn't put them through that! I wouldn't do that to them! I'm not a let-down like she is!"

Tanya nodded her head and hummed, "You're right, Ian, you're not a let-down, you are a person who unfortunately is sick and unmedicated. That's why you're here, so we can help." Ian had started shaking his head, mumbling 'no' under his breath repeatedly, his fingers worrying the edge of his bedsheets. "Ian, we can't help you until you accept this fact. But I want to explain to you that this is not your fault. It's biological. You have no control over it. This is your body, and it's a genetic illness. Bipolar disorder runs in families. You never know, one of your siblings could develop bipolar themselves." Ian looked at her confusedly. "A parent having bipolar is like a predisposition," she cleared her throat lightly, "and it takes a trigger for the mania and the depression to kick in, like the death of a loved one, a breakdown in a relationship, anything like that. Do you understand me? None of this is your fault." She reassured him as he watched her avidly, suddenly seeming slightly interested. "Do you understand this, Ian?"

Ian never knew that. When Monica was diagnosed, he was too young to think to look it up, so he never really knew much about it. And once she had left, he hadn't cared enough to look it up. But… it… it wasn't his fault? "I- So, this… this doesn't make me like her?"

Tanya shook her head, "No. From what your family told me, Monica acted how she did because she was unmedicated. With the correct medication, you can live a normal life. So long as you take the medication in the correct doses and at the correct time consistently, your high and low periods will be nowhere near as drastic as Monica's, nor as bad as extreme as the one's you've experienced so far. And we'll help with this. First, we'll sort your medication, because it won't kick in immediately, and it mightn't be the correct dosage or combination. It will be trial and error." Tanya noticed the slight drop in Ian's expression, "But it will help, eventually we'll get it right, and it will help. We'll then teach you to recognise the symptoms of a manic or depressive state, so you can adjust your medication appropriately. Would I be right in saying that you're currently experiencing a depressive mood?"

Ian shrugged his shoulders, "I… I guess. I mean, I just wanna' sleep, and I didn't want to talk to you. I'm only doing it becau-" Ian stopped himself. Why was he talking to her?

"Go on, Ian," Tanya prompted.

"Because you've said that I can end up not being a waste of oxygen like Monica." He admitted.

"Nobody is a waste of oxygen, some people just can't be helped, because they won't take it." She cleared her throat. "Now that we know you're suffering from a depressive state, we can alter medication accordingly, to try and alleviate some of the symptoms of the depression. So, is there anything else you want to know?" Tanya asked him, after she had written a few notes on her clipboard.

Ian shook his head.

"Okay, so, each session I'll give you a sheet like this one to fill out." She handed him a sheet with a scale of negative five to positive five and several questions after.

 _How are you feeling/what are you thinking?_

 _What have you done/do you intend to do about this?_

"You'll just have to fill it out so we can assess your situation, and it will slowly allow us to identify the symptoms of your manic and depressive stages so that we can then teach you to look out for them, as well as helping us work out whether your medication is correct or not. Of course, your input will also be needed to understand that." She then handed him her pen and asked him to fill it out.

Ian looked at the sheet. _How would you rate your mood?_

He thought for a moment. He felt like a bag of shit, but there were times when he had felt even worse. With that in mind, Ian circled negative four. Then he circled negative three. "I can't decide. I kinda' wanna' put it in the middle, yeah?" Ian explained when he noticed Tanya observing his answers. She just nodded her head tentatively.

 _How are you feeling/what are you thinking?_

Tired. Confused. Exhausted. Shitty.

The next question caused Ian to furrow his brow. "What does this one mean?"

Tanya exhaled gently and explained "For example, in a down period, some people self-harm, or think of self-harming, whilst others have coping techniques that differ from this, such as going for a nap, reading a book, or just trying to think about happy things. This question kind of allows us to monitor how you're coping, whether your medication is working, and if we need to put you under a higher monitor level for your own or the safety of others."

Ian nodded his head slowly. He didn't want to write everything, so he just stared at the question in confusion. When he noticed Tanya looking at his bandaged knuckles, he quickly wrote 'nothing' for that answer and handed it back to her. She looked at him for a moment before tucking the paper back on to her clipboard, taking her pen back. "Okay, well, I think we'll leave it there for now if you want. I'll go and notify the dispensary nurse of your medication change, and I'll leave you to relax, okay? Don't worry about your next timetabled slot, I won't have time to sort a task out for you, so don't worry about it and just come to the next one tomorrow."

Ian nodded his head, "Thanks," he whispered softly before laying down and tucking himself under his sheets again, closing his eyes and letting himself gently cry for a moment. If it wasn't the most relieving thing knowing that he wouldn't end up like Monica.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Ian heard a familiar voice saying as the owner got closer. Turning over to look towards the doorway, he saw Mickey walking towards him. He didn't say anything he just turned back over so he could wipe away his tears.

"Don't bother. You wanna' cry? Cry. I ain't gonna' judge you." Mickey said, sitting down on Ian's bed and looking at the redhead as he turned away from him.

"Your session finish early?" Ian asked Mickey, not turning to look at him.

"Didn't go. Remembered your room for this session, so I got your woman to come down. I sat outside. Wanted to make sure you were okay," Mickey said, putting a hand on Ian's arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Ian nodded his head gently, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Look at me," Mickey asked, shaking Ian's arm gently. "Ian, look at me."

Ian slowly rolled over to look at Mickey, his eyes sad and unsure.

"You're not a waste of oxygen," he said, looking Ian in the eye firmly. He bent down a pressed a gentle kiss to Ian's forehead.

"Thanks," Ian whispered. He then looked to the clock and saw that he still had time for a nap before lunch. He shuffled out of his pants and threw them out of the sheets before sitting up and pulling off his sweatshirt and t-shirt in one swift movement. And then he was laying down and rolling over to sleep.

"Mind if I join ya'?" Mickey asked gently, his voice slightly hopeful.

Ian shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal way but made space for Mickey to lay down next to him. He didn't really know where this was going. The situation confused him. He supposed it was because he had never really looked at a guy before in a romantic way. It wasn't something he felt opposed to, he had just never really had his eye taken by anyone. Ian heard fabric rubbing against itself, then he heard Mickey's clothes falling to the floor. A cold hand on his hip made Ian jump.

"Sorry," Mickey mumbled, taking his hand back.

"It's fine," Ian replied, closing his eyes. He exhaled gently when Mickey's cold hand returned to his hip. "Thank you," Ian whispered, "for… getting Tanya to come see me."

"No problem. You don't deserve to waste a month and a half like I did." Mickey paused, "How long are you in here for? I mean, like, was it court or hospital ordered? You comin' here."

"Four weeks. Court. Got admitted to hospital after I jumped out of a second storey window. Something about drugs, breaking and entering, something like that." Ian explained, his voice getting quiet with embarrassment.

Mickey's hand was rubbing gentle circles in to Ian's hip as he asked "Was… that a high or a low?"

"High. I was two states across, hadn't been home for a couple weeks." He sighed lightly, "What about you?"

Mickey's hand stopped as he said "Self-admission at the moment, so my leavin' is kinda' conditional."

Ian nodded, "Why?"

"I'm fucked up." Mickey explained. "I, ah, I got admitted first when I went in to hospital. Cut my wrists, tried to kill myself. Wouldn't've made it if my sister hadn't found me when she did. I came in for six weeks originally, spent that refusin' treatment, kept in for six more when Mandy finally begged me to see sense, said she needed me." Mickey stopped for a moment after his voice had broken slightly. "I got better… a little, enough for them to discharge me on external therapy. Then I lost it. Dad found me takin' it up the ass, beat the fuckin' shit outta' me, beat the guy I was with to the point of bein' a vegetable." Mickey's grip had tightened on Ian's hip to the point of almost causing him pain. "Another failed suicide attempt, more shit from my dad, then I got Mandy to drive me down here and put myself in. It's just 'til I feel I can get out. But with how my dad is, I ain't in no rush."

"Erm, do you mind me asking what your, uh, B.D.P. is?" Ian asked cautiously.

Mickey relaxed a little and chuckled, "B.P.D. is borderline personality disorder. I guess it's kinda' like yours a bit. My moods can be erratic, as you've seen, so like, I can be cheery as your fuckin' aunt one minute and the next you can just fuck off 'cause I won't be somethin' you'd wanna' spend time with." He sighed, "Hostility is a big part of it. Umm, I guess in short it's kind of how my moods are and how I… interact with other people. It's kinda' weird, hard to describe 'cause it's different in everyone. Like, there's a load of symptoms I could have, but I only have some of 'em. And someone else with it might have some of them, but they might not have any of the ones that I do, and they've still got the same shit as me."

"You're not fucked up," Ian said after a minute.

Mickey chuckled lightly, "I am, I'm just havin' a few good days."


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N:** _I have a lot of love for caring Mickey. You will see that in this chapter. Sorry, sensitive Mickey is my fave._

 _ **Chapter Six**_

"Yo, Bonnie, Clyde, get up and get your pills, I'm tired of hearing Ian's fucking name over and over again," Ian and Mickey were woken by Jared giving them both a kick.

The dozing couple blearily opened their eyes, Ian a little more reluctantly than Mickey, "Thanks, man," Mickey said, standing up and pulling on his trousers and a t-shirt. "Ian, get up," he shook Ian's shoulder before handing him his pants and the bundle that was his t-shirt and sweatshirt.

"I don't want 'em," Ian grumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Mickey looked at him firmly and said "Well, Monica, that's real fuckin' nice, but you're havin' 'em," taking the sweatshirt and t-shirt bundle and untangling it.

"Fuck off," Ian hissed, kicking his leg out at Mickey quickly, not allowing the older boy time to react. And by the sound Mickey made, Ian had made a good shot.

"If you were anyone else, I woulda' punched you right back in the nuts, but I'm tryin' to control my anger, so get the fuck up." Mickey coughed a few times after, straightening up and moving the sheets off of Ian, pulling him up and trying to force him in to his clothes. Only now did he notice the blood on Ian's pants and his mattress. "Come on, you need 'em," he sighed, seeing the cuts on Ian's leg that looked like they were still struggling to heal over. He could see the masses of tissue covered in blood beside him. Going over to the chest of drawers, he went in to one of his and pulled out his facecloth, bundling it up slightly and pressing it to Ian's leg.

"Ow!" Ian groaned lowly, looking to Mickey with a venomous look.

"When'd you do this?" Mickey asked as he continued to apply the pressure.

"Breakfast,"

"Then you need it lookin' at," Mickey exhaled, "If you're gonna' do it and not get noticed, you've gotta' learn when it's too much. You need it to heal over on its own, these ain't. Put your clothes on, we'll get your pills and then take you down to the clinic. You don't have a choice in it." In that moment, Mickey felt as though he was Ian's parent, having to watch over him and make sure that he ate his vegetables and washed his hands. In this case, though, it was making sure he took his meds, attended his therapy sessions, and didn't accidentally off himself.

Ian was shaking his head as Mickey tried to dress him, "No, no, I don't wanna'," his arms fighting against the t-shirt that Mickey was forcing over his head.

"Well, you fucking gotta'!" Mickey raised his voice, pulling Ian's sweatshirt over his head and pulling him up to pull his pants up.

"Mickey, nooooo," Ian mumbled, leaning against Mickey's chest limply.

Sighing, Mickey didn't say anything, instead just frog-marching Ian to the pill station, handing over Ian's I.D. card and accepting the pills and water to give to the boy who was leaning against a wall.

Ian stood to the side, his eyes set on the floor as Mickey came towards him, a dispensary nurse beside him, handing the ginger boy the paper cup with his pills in and a cup of water.

"Please, just don't fight me on this one, okay?" Mickey pleaded, forcing the two cups at Ian.

Ian could see the desperation in Mickey's eyes, hear it in his voice as his jaw was firmly set. He didn't want the pills, he didn't want any of this, but he didn't know what else to do, what else to think, and so he just nodded vacantly and accepted the two cups hesitantly. After he'd taken his pills, the nurse checked his mouth before walking away.

In the clinic, Ian was sat on a bed, the curtains pulled around it as the nurse asked him to take his pants off. He did so and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the anxiety in Mickey's own blue ones. He didn't get what Mickey's problem was anyway, he'd only known him for a couple days. Why was the guy worrying so much?

And not to mention, he had fucking told him to do it?!

Ian really struggled to understand Mickey at the best of times.

"Do you mind?" The nurse asked, gesturing to Ian's boxers. He shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes closed. He didn't have to do anything else (Mickey answered any questions the nurse had), just nod his head when she explained that she needed to put a couple of stitches in his leg. Mickey was good to him, though, and didn't give the nurse too much information, just enough that she knew what to do. The nurse gave him a fresh set of pants, told him to drink a lot of water, be careful, and then sent him off, advising he got some rest. Ian didn't know this, but the nurse had asked Mickey to keep an eye on him, saying that she would vouch for his absence from his timetabled session that afternoon.

Sitting on James' bed, Mickey watched Ian sleeping peacefully, his eyes never leaving the redhead. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Ian, not his Ian.

Suddenly, Mickey was being woken up: "Dude, come on, you've got your own bed," James was saying as he shook Mickey awake.

Mickey looked at him for a moment before looking to see Ian's empty bed. "Sorry. Don't worry, I'm getting up anyway," he mumbled as he was climbing off of the bed and making his way out of their room, looking for Ian. After checking the rec room and the bathroom, he found Ian in the shower room, he only knew it was him in there because he just could see Ian's bright hair through the cheap shower curtains. He was sitting down by the looks of it.

"Ian, it's me," Mickey called out calmly. He didn't get a reply. "You mind coming out?" Still no reply. His heart skipped a beat. He pulled open the curtain, finding Ian sitting down, his skin pink from the hot water pounding down from above him. After reaching in and turning the water off, he bent down to Ian's level and put a hand on his shoulder, "You okay?" Mickey kept his tone as soft as he could. Ian nodded his head. "Just needed space to think?" Again, Ian nodded his head, a few water droplets going in to his eyes. "Come on, let's get you dried off before you freeze," Mickey told him, standing up and taking Ian's towel from the hook. He held it out for Ian to step in to, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest gently.

"I just hate it," Ian mumbled in to Mickey's shoulder.

Mickey nodded his head, reassuring him that his pills would start to kick in soon.

When it came to getting up the next day for breakfast, Ian felt a little willing. He didn't feel like everything was coming down on top of him, he felt like he was able to smile without it looking like a pained and forced grimace. Today felt… better. Not great, but better. After he'd showered (two showers a day seemed like it would become a gradual habit), Ian went back in to his room to find Mickey stripping the blood-covered sheets from his bed. Ian thanked him. "I'll show you where the laundry chute is," Mickey told Ian as he threw the sheets in to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, which Ian assumed belonged to the rest of the room. "Each room gets their laundry done together, we get it back by lunch. Grab some of that and help me get it down to the chute." Ian did as he was told and then followed Mickey out of their room, going towards the pill station. On the left of it was a section of the wall that was slightly more set back with six different laundry chutes like the one they had at home, but each one was numbered according to the rooms.

They dropped the laundry in to the chute before heading down for breakfast, sitting down with James, Henry, and Jared. Mickey and Ian sat speaking together, Mickey mentioning that Ian should nip down to the nurse just to get his stitches checked after he'd gotten them wet.

"Don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling a bit like an extra wheel on this table, Jared said, looking to James and Henry with a grin.

With a completely straight face, Mickey looked at Jared and said "Course you are, tables ain't meant to have fuckin' wheels," and then looked back at Ian to carry on the conversation they were having. When Mickey looked at Ian, he noticed a small smile on his face.

"I liked that one," Ian commented, taking a bite of his toast. Mickey just smiled back at him, saying that they would go to the nurse after they'd gotten his pills if there was time. Ian nodded, noticing a slight sadness to Mickey's tone. He put his hand under the table and gave Mickey's leg a gentle squeeze before returning to his breakfast.

Mickey and Ian got their pills after breakfast, leaving the table before the others, and then headed down to the nurse with ten minutes before their first timetabled session. The nurse looked at the pair as they entered, "Becoming regular customers," she chuckled lightly as she gestured them to a bed.

Ian sat down and pulled his pants down as Mickey said "He got his stitches wet in the shower," when the nurse looked to them questioningly.

"Okay, I'll just take the bandages off and take a look at those for you," the nurse explained, unwrapping the bandages from the top of Ian's leg. "They look as though you've dried them well enough. Just keep an eye on them. You know what to look out for, don't you, Mickey?" He nodded gently. "Okay, well, I'll give you some spare bandages and gauze and I'll put some fresh on now. Just make sure that if you are showering you're trying to avoid the stitches getting wet." She smiled softly as she re-bandaged Ian's leg. "Mickey, would you like to go and get some spares from the drawers over there?" The nurse asked, pointing towards a sterile-looking chest of drawers in the corner. When Mickey had gone, she looked to Ian briefly before saying "You've got a good one. Mickey's a nice guy, he just needs someone to keep him… level," she mentioned quietly, smiling as she tied off the bandage. Ian smiled a small smile back at her.

After that, Ian and Mickey were heading to the session where he would do his therapy task. He discovered that this was done in the communal hall on Willow, with everyone just sitting at the table completing their tasks (they were set in a folder, each of which was in a box that was ordered alphabetically).

Ian sat down at a table, Mickey coming to sit beside him, and they both opened up their folders. Ian had a set of handwritten instructions, an A5 notebook, and a pen.

 _Make a diary entry._

 _Write anything and everything. How you're feeling, what you're thinking. Anything. We will use this to monitor your episodes and use them to help us learn the indicators of a manic or depressive episode._

 _See you next session, Ian._

 _Tanya._

Ian flipped through the pages of the book, just checking that they were all empty. He actually found the flipping of the pages quite relaxing. Opening the book, Ian began to write:

 _Um, okay, this is kind of weird. It's a bit girly, isn't it? I dunno', whatever. Mickey told me to be open-minded, said it would get me out of here quicker, so that's what I'm trying to do._

 _I'm feeling a little better. Today's probably like a -1.5 or something, maybe a -1. I dunno', better. I don't really know what else to write._

And then Ian looked up to Mickey. He had a look of concentration on his face as he scribbled in to a book similar to Ian's, but Ian couldn't see what he was writing. He didn't think he needed to see anyway, though.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Just… put your head down and pretend you're writing shit. Monitors don't let you go early, so you can usually just sit and talk so long as you look like you're writing," Mickey mumbled out, his voice sounding slightly irritated.

A swift nod and then Ian was down and writing in his 'diary' again.

 _I don't know what's up with Mickey. He seems off today. He's been off since breakfast. Nothing really happened then, though. The guys made a joke, but it was a joke, so I don't think that bothered him. He gave as good as he got anyway, so I really doubt it bothered him._

 _I dunno', I worry about him, but I think it's only because I still don't understand it. BPD. I still don't understand it, even after he tried to explain. I don't understand a lot of this place, though, so I guess it doesn't really make a difference._

 _I'd just… I'd like to help him, like he's helping me._


	8. Chapter Seven

_**Chapter Seven**_

Ian's group therapy session was quite similar to his previous one, but his time he didn't see himself as being one of the depressed people – not that he had admitted that when asked by Mickey. He felt slightly normal.

"How are you today, Ian?" The group leader asked when it was his turn in the circle.

"Okay," he replied, his tone sounding a little optimistic. He even smiled gently like he did with the nurse to reassure her of this. The leader of the group session left it at that, knowing that Ian would have to settle in to the group therapy atmosphere before he would feel fully comfortable with opening up to them all. For now, she was just happy with him turning up and experiencing the feel of a group therapy session and seeing others opening up, being able to see that others struggled just like him, but that they were getting better.

Lunch found Mickey absent from the table. Ian felt slightly uncomfortable inviting himself to the table without Mickey with him, but he did, sending them all a small, if slightly uncomfortable, 'hey'.

"Where's Mickey?" James asked as Ian was taking a bite of his chicken sandwich.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ian quickly swallowed the bite and replied, "Dunno', assumed he'd be in here. Why?"

"Just weird. He always comes to lunch. Guy eats like a pig," James laughed. "Oh, well, his loss."

Not much was said after that. Ian felt slightly uncomfortable, like a cat sitting in a lion's den, so he got up quickly once he'd finished, saying he would see them later as he went to get his pills.

When Ian got to his therapy session with Tanya, he sat down in the small room with her and waited as she handed him another copy of the sheet he had filled out yesterday.

"So, how are you today, Ian? You've come of your own accord, that must be a good sign," she smiled warmly as she met his eyes.

"Umm, I'm feeling a little better today," he returned the smile. It might not have been as full of cheer as hers was, but it wasn't a particularly false smile either.

Tanya nodded her head, "That's good, that's really good. So, if you'd like to fill out the sheet again as you did yesterday, I'll have a look at your diary entry, if that's okay?"

Ian looked at Tanya before looking down to the notebook on her desk. Should he have written some of that stuff in there? He didn't know if it was relevant. Should he request she didn't read it?

Reluctantly, though, Ian nodded, accepting the pen she handed to him and filling out the sheet she had given him before.

As he looked back up, he noticed Tanya had a small smile on her face as she read.

"What?" Ian asked when he noticed this.

"Is this Mickey Milkovich?" Tanya asked, handing him the notebook back.

Ian stopped for a moment. He didn't know Mickey's last name now he came to think of it. It had never really come about in conversation; "Umm, I dunno', it's Mickey from the other day, the one who came to get you," he trailed off uncomfortably as he looked down to his feet.

Tanya nodded gently, "Yes, the Milkovich boy. He really is lovely, just suffered some hard times. Not that everyone here hasn't," she quickly added. "Do you… care for Mickey?" Ian shrugged his shoulders. "Okay… do you get on well together?"

Again another shrug. "I dunno', he's been off, like I wrote. I don't know if it's me or something else."

"Well, I know that you wrote that he tried to explain to you what his condition entails, but you said you still don't understand it. I can't give you specifics on Mickey, of course, but I can help you to understand certain aspects of B.P.D. as a whole."

Ian sat forward a little, interest evident on his features. And then Tanya began to explain how Mickey's – people with B.P.D.'s – condition can be changeable, and can sometimes be changed instantly by the smallest of things, those of which can have an impact on their mood for the rest of the day and sometimes more. Ian discovered that there could be a lot of self-doubt and negative thinking, and that a lot of positive reinforcement was needed. She told him how relationships with B.P.D. sufferers tended to be intense, but sometimes unstable due to their changeable moods and emotions.

Ian had to try hard not to laugh at that last part. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh because of the idea of a relationship with Mickey or the idea that Mickey's changeable moods would be difficult on him – him with his _bipolar_. He wasn't sure, but he held it in and just nodded along.

"Does that help you at all?" Again, another nod from the redhead. "So, I'd like to talk about the accident you had that caused you to be admitted. Is that okay?"

"I… I guess," Ian mumbled, twisting his fingers together awkwardly.

"Do you remember what put you in that situation?"

Ian thought back to the time of his accident.

 _Ian had too much energy. Too much to contain. Rushing upstairs, Ian haphazardly packed a bag and a little cash and was suddenly leaving the house. Running. He needed to run. Ian was running for a long time. He began to feel free, open._

Ian remembered running that day. Now that he came to think of it, his feet were killing by the end of it, but he hadn't cared. He had needed to do it, he didn't feel he could cope being cooped up in the house.

 _Wow, the party the night before was amazing. He wasn't even hanging, he was euphoric. They were now driving out to another party. A bigger one. When they arrived at the venue, it was an abandoned warehouse._

At that moment, Ian had thought about how amazing it would be to crash an abandoned warehouse and party like there was no tomorrow. He remembered the party.

 _Lights. Music. Clothes. A carpet made of clothes. Drugs going on everywhere. And then there were the naked bodies. People were laying on the floor, thrusting, licking. There was a lot of sex. Ian partook in a lot of it._

"Umm, can I… is there… can I get tested?" Ian asked hesitantly. He had been so buzzed that condoms hadn't been a thought. His dignity hadn't really been one either, though…

Tanya furrowed a brow. "Did you not use protection?"

"I was drugged up beyond belief, drunk off my ass, and… I just… I didn't really care that much. There were naked girls all over the place."

Tanya looked at him, asking "Sorry, did… did I misinterpret the Mickey situation?"

 _Did_ she misinterpret the Mickey situation? Did _he_ misinterpret the Mickey situation? Hell, he didn't even know what was happening with the Mickey situation. Or what the Mickey situation even was. Maybe it wasn't even a situation? Maybe Ian was making a mountain out of a mole hill? He didn't know, it made his head hurt to try and get his head around it.

Ian stared at the floor for a while, his chin resting on his hands. "I… don't know…" At Tanya's curious look, Ian explained "Well, I… I don't know myself. I mean, I've had sex with girls, but I've never had sex with a guy. Well, it's a long story," Ian sighed.

Tanya looked to her watch before nodding at him to continue.

Ian explained what had happened the first day he had arrived, his eyes staying on the floor.

"Do you… do you understand what I mean about Mick- B.P.D. sufferers experiencing changeable moods?" Tanya asked afterwards. Ian nodded his head. "Of course, unless you would like otherwise, none of what you have just told me will leave this room." Ian's head shook rapidly in agreement. "Okay, that's fine. And… how do you feel about your first experience with Mickey?"

"I… it was weird. But… I guess what you've told me kind of explains it."

"So, how… do you feel about Mickey? Do you feel you can go to him for help if you need it?" Ian nodded. "Do you feel you would be willing to help him if he asked for it?" Another nod. "And do you enjoy spending time with him?" One final nod. "Well, for now then, that's all that's important I suppose." Tanya cleared her throat before asking, "Would you like to ask me anything else? Talk about anything else?" A small shake of his head. "Well, continue to use the diary as your therapy task then, and I'll see you on Monday."

Ian looked up, "Would… I be able to take it with me? So long as I bring it back?"

Tanya thought for a moment before saying "Well, I don't see any harm in that. And if you do want to get tested, Ian, I can send a message to the nurse and she can sort it out."

Ian smiled and took the notebook that she was holding towards him, thanking her softly and leaving in a hurry.

When it came to free time, Ian went to his room and laid down to read, still not seeing Mickey. By the time Pip had arrived in London, Ian still had not seen Mickey, and he was starting to get a bit curious. Mickey usually came to see him. And he had been off. What was up? Had he done something wrong? Placing his book down, he went in hunt of his dark-haired friend.

After looking in all of the possible areas on Elm that Mickey could be and not finding him, he wandered down the stairs. A quick look in the main communal areas downstairs told Ian that Mickey must have been outside. So, that gave him the gym, sports area, or pool. Ian had never been to these places, so he had to follow the path in the hopes of finding one of these places as a start. Ian saw the sports area, but it was filled with people playing basketball along with a few huddles of people around the edges. Ian didn't feel like walking in to that mass of strangers on his own. And so he gave a brief glance but didn't find anyone who seemed to be of Mickey's build and looks. Continuing along the faint path, Ian found a large building five minutes away, one wall completely covered by windows. Wandering towards it, Ian saw the sign on the wall that read ' _pool_ ' and ' _gym_ '. Pulling his I.D. card from where it was clipped to his pants pocket, Ian scanned the barcode over the reader at the door, and a green light flashed, a small _buzz_ being emitted from the door, and then he was able to pull it open. Ian felt quite uncomfortable as he wandered through the centre of the building, passing by a window that followed the length of the pool, and lockers lining the other side. At the end, he saw a set of stairs and another sign which told him that the gym was upstairs. Ian thought it safer to check the gym first before he tried to look for Mickey in the pool, ending up looking like a pervert.

The gym was separated in to two rooms: cardio and weights. Ian walked in to the cardio room first, looking for Mickey on the equipment as he did. There weren't many guys in there of Mickey's build, so it wasn't too hard to work out if he was there or not. When he was sure he wasn't in there, he wandered through to the weights room. This one wasn't as easy to scan for Mickey. A lot of the equipment had people laying down in one way or another so that a quick glance wouldn't suffice. And the fact that this room was a lot more popular didn't help the matter much either. So, Ian began his rotation of the weights room, receiving some funny glances from people as he had to move himself around certain pieces of equipment to specifically search out their face. "Sorry," he mumbled out quite a lot in that room, feeling like a CD that was stuck on repeat.

"Mickey?" He said as he saw a figure that he was quite sure was one of his roommates, going towards the person who was doing bench presses in the corner. He didn't get an answer, but as he got closer he saw that it was the person he had gone in search of. He looked down at Mickey, seeing him with his shirt off as he benched a pretty decent weight.

Mickey set the bar down after three more reps before looking to Ian and saying "Great, you're here. You can spot me. Chuck another five on each side, will you?" Mickey asked, sitting up for a minute to take off the collars.

Ian nodded slowly, picking up two five kilogram weights and putting them on to the bar, replacing the collars that he took from Mickey. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Mickey asked, his voice sharp as he laid back down on the bench.

"Didn't see you at lunch or in free time. I wondered if you were okay."

Mickey gripped the bar, not looking at Ian as he repeated himself, "I said I'm fine."

"Okay. You just seemed like you've had a stick up your ass all day," Ian said as Mickey began to lift. The strain showed on his face as he exhaled heavily with each lift, Ian trying not to distract him as he spotted for his friend.

"Fuckin'… fine," Mickey panted out heavily as he continued to lift.

Ian looked down at Mickey, watching his eyes actively avoid his own, the concentration clear on his face as he strained his way through his last two reps. "You don't seem it," Ian said softly, concern heavy in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I'm in this place… you expect me to be all rainbows and fuckin' sunshine?!" Mickey asked, breathing heavily as he sat up.

Ian looked down, not knowing what to say. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, but he also didn't always think before he spoke. "You still need me, or-"

"Yeah," Mickey snapped, cutting Ian off as he laid down again for another set.

Ian said nothing else as he just stepped back in to place to spot Mickey. "Are we… cool?" Ian asked hesitantly after a minute. Mickey grunted out a noise of agreement. At least, Ian thought it was agreement. It was difficult to work it out with Mickey's pants becoming heavier. And then he saw the brief flicker of pain in Mickey's eyes and quickly grabbed at the bar, taking the weight from Mickey to get it back in to the holder.

Mickey cleared his throat and sat up, trying to catch his breath for a moment before looking to Ian. "I had that…" he trailed off, looking down to his feet.

"Sure you did," Ian chuckled lightly, smiling at Mickey, his eyes honestly smiling.

"Fuck you," The dark-haired boy mumbled in response, forcing a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace.

Ian put a hand on Mickey's shoulder, leaning down to him and whispering "Well, apparently I'm in to guys, too, because that was pretty hot to watch, so I'm gonna' have to leave," as he squeezed Mickey's shoulder before winking at him and walking out of the gym. Ian wasn't even out of the weights room before he heard footsteps behind him, and he knew it was Mickey.

Was he in to guys? Had he just said it in the hope that it might cheer Mickey up? He didn't really know. Everything he had had before coming here was with girls, bar the guy who had tossed him off at the warehouse party. Well, he guessed he would find out if Mickey was game.


	9. Chapter Eight

_**Chapter Eight**_

As Ian left the gym, he heard the door close behind him and then footsteps. Running.

Suddenly, he was being tackled to the grass.

 _What?_

Ian turned to see what had happened, and an angry looking Mickey was on top of him.

"Fuck you," was whispered in to Ian's ear.

"You okay, Mickey?" Ian asked, unsure of whether Mickey was angry or fucking with him. He knew that acting rationally, having unstable emotions, was something that Mickey's illness made him prone to. He also knew that he had pushed Mickey, had prodded at him when he clearly didn't want to talk, and, even though he hadn't known Mickey long, Ian knew it was about as safe as skipping through a mine field.

Mickey looked him dead in the eye and almost growled out a 'no' as he was standing up, pulling Ian along with a strength he did not expect and smashing their lips together. Ian responded to the kiss with an equally eager force. It was a hungry kiss. Almost a battle. Both of them fought for dominance of the kiss, and that only made it better. Mickey suddenly pulled back, looking at Ian and saying "That was fuckin' cruel in there," before walking away from Ian, going back towards the gym but not entering it. Ian followed after him, his fists clenched, his breathing still heavy from the kiss. Suddenly, Mickey had disappeared. Ian turned a corner, and hands were on him.

Blue eyes met his own as he was pulled flush to Mickey's chest, "No, that was," Ian replied before leaning in to press his lips to Mickey's. His arms went around Mickey's neck as he was kissing him harder, feeling Mickey's hands reaching down to pull off his shirt.

"No fair for just me to be shirtless," Mickey mumbled out as he pulled Ian's shirt up over his head and threw it on to the floor, only now noticing the scar on his left pectoral. He brushed a thumb over it before leaning down to kiss along the length of the scar, running his tongue along it, causing a shiver to traverse Ian's spine. And then his lips were moving upwards, his teeth dragging across Ian's pale skin as he mumbled "How'd you get it?" He stopped at Ian's neck, scraping his teeth across his pulse point lightly before pressing a kiss to it.

Ian's head had been hung back the whole time as he replied "Time I thought I could fly," his voice breathy and ragged, trying not to indulge in the memory too much.

Mickey hummed lightly as his teeth grazed on the lobe of Ian's ear, his hand rubbing circles low on Ian's hips, pushing at the boundaries of his pants. Ian's hips began to roll against Mickey's as he exhaled long and loud, his hands reaching down for the curve of his butt, squeezing when Mickey reached his lips again and began to kiss him with such a force it made Ian moan in to the other boy's mouth. Mickey was turning them around and pressing Ian against the wall, letting his fingers hang against the waistband of Ian's pants, slowly tugging at them as he ravished the redhead's lips.

Ian felt painfully hard as Mickey teased the waistband of his boxers. "Ughh," he moaned as Mickey pulled Ian's boxers down a little, beginning to trail his way down his chest, his tongue dragging across his abs. Ian's head was falling back against the wall as Mickey's lips were on his hips, his teeth more active this time. And then Ian felt a shiver go up his spine as Mickey took him in to his mouth, his back arching as his hands sat in Mickey's hair, gripping on to the pleasure that he was feeling. If Mickey didn't look perfect on his knees, his hands now gripping on to Ian's butt cheeks, his nails occasionally scratching, causing Ian's hips to buck.

 _Fuck me, Mickey is good at this!_ Ian thought, unable to think of anything else apart from how perfect and how right having Mickey's mouth around his cock felt.

Mickey continued to work his mouth perfectly, a final flick of his tongue causing Ian to come with a stifled groan as his hands sat at the nape of Mickey's neck, his nails gently digging in.

Mickey pulled off, wiping a hand across his mouth, and stood back up, pulling Ian's boxers with him and saying "I needed that after the gym and skipping lunch," before going in to kiss Ian again. Mickey hummed against Ian's lips as Ian slipped a bandaged hand in to his boxers. He wasn't long in coming, what with how Ian had been before. Mickey came in to Ian's hand, his hands gripping on to Ian's shoulder hard as he did.

"I… I'm sorry I couldn't, uh…" Ian mumbled, looking down as he pulled his pants up and turned away to retrieve his t-shirt.

Mickey caught his hand and pulled him back towards him, looking him in the eye and saying "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," before letting go of Ian's hand. "Besides, it's all learnin' and experience," he said as Ian pulled his shirt back on.

As the pair made their way back towards the main building, neither of them knowing the time, Mickey looked to Ian and said "Thanks."

"For what? That? 'Cause I mean, if we're thanking, I think I should be the one doin-" Ian mumbled out, Mickey cutting him off.

"No, ya' fuckin' idiot. Although the bandage did feel surprisingly good." Mickey laughed gently to himself. "I meant… I needed that. I… I was feelin' kinda' shitty, and I… well, I guess it was nice… you know. You comin' to find me, _that_ ," Mickey chuckled shortly, "kinda'… makes me feel like you actually care about me. Like… I dunno', I… I end up seemin' kinda' needy, 'cause of my, err, yeah, and it-"

Ian then stopped Mickey mid-sentence to say "You don't have to explain it to me. I'm messed up, too, and you've put up with me, so… kind of makes us even," he smiled softly.

"Thanks!" Mickey scoffed, punching Ian playfully in the shoulder as he laughed.

Ian laughed with Mickey, asking "So… what… shitty thoughts?"

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah. Just loadsa' negative shit, doubt, crap like that. It happens," Mickey replied dismissively.

Ian smiled, winking at Mickey as he dashed up the stairs ahead of the dark-haired boy.

As Ian went up the stairs, Mickey couldn't help but watch how nicely his butt was shaped by his pants as he took each step.

Mickey followed Ian in to their room, looking through the piles of fresh laundry and fishing out his clean clothes. He put Ian's on his bed, along with his fresh sheets, and said softly "Damn, your ass looked fuckin' good comin' up those stairs."

 _Bet it'd look fuckin' better comin' up my ass,_ he thought to himself, a half-smile crossing his lips.

Ian smiled back at Mickey, "Thanks. I'm still liking the shirtless look you've got going on there."

Mickey laughed to himself, "Fuck, I left my t-shirt in the gym. That's why you shouldn't distract me, I forget my shit."

"Good to know," Ian mumbled to himself as he started putting the clean sheets on his bed.

Mickey looked to Ian before opening one of his drawers, "You need a hand with that?" Ian shook his head. "Okay, I'm gonna' go for a shower."

Nodding, Ian said "Okay, I'll probably see you in there in a minute." Ian laughed, "Wow, that sounded gayer than it was meant to."

"I'm hoping so!" Mickey called behind him with a sharp, loud laugh as he headed for the shower room.

He heard Ian laughing, but couldn't hear what he had said afterwards.

In the shower, Mickey stood facing away from the spray, his head hung back as he attempted to let the self-doubt, the shame, the anxiety, the negative thoughts, all of it just wash away down the drain. Ian was only a distraction, he wasn't a cure, and Mickey knew that. How he wished Ian was a cure, but a distraction was all he could ever be. At the end of the day, Mickey knew that he would always have to settle for a distraction, because a cure was not a possibility, and that always left a slight bitterness within Mickey. There was the fact that Ian was a reminder as well – a perfectly painful reminder.

" _I love you," Jake cried out as he came at the same time as Mickey, his hands gripping hard on to the dark-haired boy's hips._

" _I… I love you, too," Mickey replied, turning to gently kiss his boyfriend, running a hand through the red hair that Mickey loved about him._

 _The door slammed open, "Over my fuckin' dead body, do ya'!" Terry Milkovich was the epitome of rage. He was flying in to the room, his arms looking like something of a windmill, not stopping with each hit they dealt. Mickey tried his hardest to defend Jake, but he didn't stand a chance against Terry Milkovich. Many a time had Mickey received a concussion, or a broken bone from his father, and this time was no different from the last. Mickey was knocked out pretty much instantly, hardly able to get a hit in with his dad clearly only seeing red – literally and metaphorically._

 _Mickey woke up to find himself in an ambulance, disorientated and in pain. He looked to his side to see Jake bloody and beaten. If he wasn't being held down by the paramedic, he would have jumped to Jake's side and held his hand so tightly._

 _The next day Mickey was discharged from hospital. He didn't leave though. Jake wasn't discharged. Jake was never discharged until it was on a gurney to the mortuary, and then to his funeral. The day of Jake's 'discharge' was the day that Ian made his second attempt at suicide._

Mickey had not realised he was crying until he felt his eyes stinging after a moment. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, his fists clenched tightly. Ian was terrible and at the same time absolutely amazing for him. He brought back so many painful memories that Mickey had tried so hard to fight back, but then… looking after Ian… it almost gave a Mickey a little satisfaction. He hadn't been able to take care of Jake, but he could still take care of Ian. And taking care of his own perfect little distraction was the nearest to a cure Mickey would ever get. The nearest to penance and forgiveness to himself.

Ian walked in to the shower room a little later, setting his things down on the work surface so he could take the bandages off of his knuckles. He left the bandages on his thigh to hopefully keep the stitches a little drier than if he didn't wear them. The bruises on his knuckles were now a deep purple, but the swelling had gone down and the cuts were scabbed over and on their way to healing. He stripped down, going for a shower and quickly washing off before heading back in to his room. He saw Mickey was laying on his bed as he entered in his towel.

"Jesus Christ, Ian, if you're planning on giving Mickey a show, at least give us a warning, so we know when to leave," Jared laughed, jumping down from his bunk. "Come on, James, let's give them some space. Besides, I need to get my pills before dinner. Changed my meds, so I have to go before I eat. Saves queueing though," Jared said with a shrug, gesturing for James to follow him.

"See you at dinner?" James asked before leaving. He sent a smile to the pair left in the room when they nodded a yes to him.

"You okay?" Ian asked Mickey, who seemed quiet. He received a nod. "Where did you put the spare bandages from the nurse?"

"In your drawer. You might've put your fresh clothes on top of 'em," Mickey said, looking over Ian's copy of _Great Expectations_ at the redhead.

Ian looked where directed and found the fresh bandages and gauze. He took them out, along with a fresh pair of boxers, and slipped them on before dropping his towel. As he rolled up the leg of his boxers, he saw Mickey watching him from the corner of his eye.

"I kinda' wanna' watch the struggle of you tryna' do that, but then at the same time I just can't. I know that struggle all too well," Mickey mentioned when he realised he had been noticed. He hopped down from his bed and went towards his roommate, moving his hands away as he unrolled the damp bandages and removed the gauze from Ian's leg.

Ian didn't say anything, and just let Mickey do what he was. He saw the slight sadness in Mickey's eyes as the stitched-up cuts beneath the bandages were revealed.

"Hold this, will ya'?" Mickey asked once he had positioned the gauze. Ian did as he was asked, smiling down at Mickey softly who was on his knees and beginning to wrap the bandage around Ian's upper thigh. Ian found it mesmerising to watch those strong, intimidating hands (yes, hands could be intimidating when they had _FUCK U-UP_ tattooed across the knuckles and scars from beatings which had been dished out), be so surprisingly gentle. Ian chuckled to himself lightly. "What?" Mickey demanded.

"This is the second time you've been on your knees for me today," Ian laughed.

"The fuckin' things I do for you, Ian," Mickey said as he finished tying off the bandage. He looked up to the boy whose leg he had been wrapping and pressed a gentle kiss on to the spot where the gauze had been before rolling down his boxers and standing back up. "Good as new," he smiled gently. "Now, get dressed before someone decides to jump you," Mickey joked, slapping Ian playfully on the shoulder.

"Is that someone gonna' be you?" Ian retorted.

"If you don't put some clothes on, yeah. And you know I'm a perfect fuckin' gentleman, so don't tempt me." Mickey winked at Ian before throwing a pair of pants at him.


End file.
